(I have a bad flu that doesn’t get better for two weeks, resulting in me coughing out bloody phlegm. I go to the hospital to get a checkup to see if anything is really wrong. When I get called into the clinic, the doctor, probably in his 50s or so, asks me about my sickness. He has this really smug look on his face, and I don’t think much about it until I start telling him about my symptoms. When I tell him that my illness began two weeks ago, he gets pissed off. He throws a calendar at me:)

Doctor: “Don’t tell me when; tell me the exact date. Point it out on the calendar.”

(I am dazed and try to recall the exact date I got sick. Meanwhile, he is mumbling about how youngsters have a worse memory than he does. I get pissed off, as well, from his attitude. I slam the calendar onto the table and point at the date. It isn’t the exact date but somewhere there. I take a wild guess.)

Doctor: “I suspect that you may have tuberculosis, but it’s still too early to get an x-ray because it wouldn’t show up. So, you may or may not have it. I don’t know.”

(After that, he had the d*** nerve to say I didn’t respect him, for slamming the calendar on the table. He prescribed antibiotics and I got better. Thank heavens I didn’t have to go back and see him.)